The Show Must Go On
by Rosaria Marie
Summary: Hogwarts falls on hard financial times, and the school committee decides to hos cross-house Talent Show to demonstrate how vital the institution is to the Wizarding World. The trouble is...the production manager they draft is none other than the anti-social Severus Snape, with 14-year-old Hermione Granger as his brainy and chatty second-in-command. (NOTE: CURRENTLY ON HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1: Meetings and Menus

Chapter 1: Meetings and Menus

It all started during that fateful Hogwarts staff meeting to discuss the future of the institution that was up to its magical ears in hard, cold debt. After all, the accumulative toll of constantly battling the One They Could Not Name (plus all the extra ink spent writing this epithet as opposed to the short and sweet "Voldy") was starting to be felt. If the staff was to survive in totem without the mass passage of pink slips, something had to be done, and fast.

So the proposition was passed to launch some type of extracurricular activity to demonstrate the talent being nurtured within everyone's favorite _alma mater_ to convince the Ministry of Magic that they were a vital component of the wizarding world. Minerva McGonnagall proposed a rehashed social calendar, with the big event being a school talent show.

Then one Professor Severus Snape had the misfortune of making a derogatory crack about even death-eaters having a better sense of social scheduling than they did. In addition to mutterings with regards to how he knew this (to which he replied, "common knowledge"), the committee leapt at a unanimous decision to pass the buck and give him the chance of a lifetime as Production Manager.

Snape protested.

They insisted.

He protested louder.

They smiled in a humoring fashion, dumped a bunch of paperwork in his lap, and filed out of the room.

He groaned.

But worse was to come when he went to the Great Hall in search of the year's head of the Student Council Guild for Recreational Activities…and discovered it to be none other than wild-haired, brain-busting fourteen-year-old Hermione Granger. Of course, she would volunteer for this sort of thing. Snape was not amused. Neither was Hermione.

"I…I thought that Professor McGonnagall would be…"

"You thought wrong," Snape growled. "She has had the impertinence of foisting this production upon me, and as such I will have the final say upon all show related proceedings going forward."

A collective groan arose from the students from Gryffindor hanging around, nearby.

"And count that as twenty points from Gryffindor for the lot of you," he snarled.

"So…so then are we supposed to have a meeting to discuss plans, or something?" Hermione queried, dreading the prospect of having to work in unison with the man, but determined to achieve her extra credits for volunteering, as well.

He just made a weird gesticulation with his hand and marched out, mulling over the thought of trying to get Miss Smarty-Pants removed from her position so that he could appoint one of his Slytherins, instead.

Unfortunately for him, his furtive attempts behind the scenes were blocked instantaneously by the protective Gryffindor headmistress Minerva McGonnagall, who threatened to rat him out to Dumbledore if he didn't button it and submit to fate. Curse her for being such a damnable snoopy witch…

So he began to execute his brilliant Plan B: Act as if the entire show was a mirage and avoid any and all sessions of discussion with Ms. Granger. Surely she'd be crafty enough to figure out how to get the bulk done without him, anyway…

But at breakfast in the hall the next day, Snape was sitting by himself at the far end of the staff table as usual, eating his plain porridge, when who should he find sitting across from him with a bright Gryffindor grin but Hermione, her pink 3-D folder flashing in his face.

"What _are_ you doing, you stupid girl?" he spat in disgust, thrusting down his napkin. "This is no place for the likes of…"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we really do have to have a planning session, and you've been nowhere to be found this past week outside of the classroom…"

"Well, you're supposed to be such a clever little chicklette," he snarked. "Figure it out on your own!"

"Sorry, I'd love to plan the whole thing solo, really I would, but you're the production manager, and I cannot complete the assignment without your supervision."

"And what if I refuse to partake in your juvenile planning sessions, hmm?" he challenged, shoveling a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.

"You can go ahead and do that for as long as you like," she allowed slyly. "But in the end, we'll be drawn together in the same equation, because none of us want to be working in muggle fast-food restaurants for lack of other meaningful employment."

"Why, you insolent…"

"Oh, I better put in my breakfast order," she cut him off, hailing a house elf waiter. "I'll have a bowl of frosted flakes and a cherry peach parfait, with lots of whipped cream, please."

Snape, a sugar-free sort, grimaced. "Look, you're not going to be eating that heart-attack-inducing garbage in front of my face…"

"But we _have_ to talk…"

"NO!"

"But I…"

"I said…get – out of here!"

Reluctantly she complied, realizing that the rest of the staff were beginning to give her some strange looks, as well, and didn't want to bite off more than she could chew at once. But she was not in the least deterred from her overall plan, and come lunch break, she managed to locate Snape again, who had made the unorthodox decision of sitting at the head of the Slytherin table with the look of an authoritarian ogre, most likely to avoid another potential embarrassment in front of the staff.

Once more she calmly slipped onto the bench across from him, her eyes bright and unafraid, and stood her folder up on the table, opening it for him to behold…which accidentally scraped his nose. He responded by knocking it flat with a flick of his wrist.

"I do not believe even you are suffering from such delusions of grandeur as to suppose you are now an honorary Slytherin," he growled.

"All I suppose, sir, is that this talent show is meant to reflect the best of ALL houses," she reminded him, "and thus such boundaries should be rendered temporarily penetrable until our unitive task is complete."

"I'll give you a task, you wild-haired little wench…"

She snapped her fingers at another passing house elf. "Bologna, cheddar cheese, and sweet pickle sandwich with lots of mayo, a glass of pink lemonade, and a piece of banana cream pie, thanks."

Snape gazed down at his tea and bran muffin, as if trying to ground himself for the coming trial. "Miss Granger, if you do not remove yourself from this table immediately, I will be forced to take….drastic…measures…"

She huffed, but was undaunted by his elongated delivery. "I'll go, but only if you promise that we can get this over with, come dinnertime."

"Do not presume to push me into a corner…"

"I'll be at Strega Nona's Italian Supper House at six p.m.; look forward to seeing you there." She promptly jumped up and headed to the Gryffindor table before a certain enraged someone could start slashing her hard-earned points.

Hermione was at the magical off-campus haunt of the Hogwarts students for a full fifteen minutes before the usually punctual professor finally showed up. He obviously disdained the concept of being seen by any of his students in such a location, but as she had predicted, he had to bend to fate eventually, no matter how hard he fought. And the last thing he wanted to do with his life was find himself in a labeled apron dousing fish and chips with vinegar.

Again, she beamed at him, which sunk his mood 99.9% lower than it already was. His gaze fell on what she was eating. "What the hell…?"

"They have a new dinner menu," she explained excitedly. "I ordered this Tour of Italy special that has triple-cheese heart-shaped raviolis, chicken fettuccini, stuffed mushrooms, Balsamic salad, and the garlic bread…oh, and this side of cheesecake and cannolis…"

"How in blazes do you expect to consume all that, you little glutton?"

She huffed. "Just…let's get on with business, shall we?"

He rolled his eyes, but finally took the seat at her table, pulling his chair as far away from her as possible.

"Now we need to talk about advertising this initiative," she stated, starting to dish out some of the pasta onto another plate, and shoving it towards him. "How do you suggest we get the news out about…?"

"Damn! What do you think you're doing?" he exploded, jerking farther away from the food.

"What? You said yourself I couldn't eat it all on my own…"

"Firstly, you just dished that out with the same fork you've been eating with," he noted, revealing his germaphobe sensibilities. "Secondly…I despise Italian food."

Hermione went white. "You're not serious?"

"Do I seem particularly in the mood to make jokes?" he grunted, pushing the plate away. However, he did snatch up a dried garlic stick and munch on it to release tension. "So…let's make this as painless as possible: you're going to get this damned thing out and about via posters on the school grounds and in the Daily Prophet. Then, two weeks from now, we should set a date for auditions, to separate the sheep from the goats…" He paused. "Even though they will no doubt _all_ be goats."

"Alright, that sounds rational enough…"

"Delightful. I'm glad I make so much sense to you. Now, if your spirit isn't too crushed, I'll be on my way…"

"Wait! We haven't gone over even a quarter of the things I have marked down in this file…"

"I'm afraid you'll just have to shift for yourself at present," he sniffed. "And I do believe a little brainwork might just help melt off the poundage you're no doubt accumulating while in this establishment."

Hermione now turned red. "That…that was below the belt!"

"You're the one who's going to have to worry about belts from now on, not I," he snorted, and sweepingly exited the restaurant.

It was only later that evening, when he received a charged bill for the Tour of Italy special, that he realized the full throttle effect of Granger revenge.


	2. Chapter 2: Audition of Doom

Chapter 2: The Audition

Audition day arrived that upcoming Saturday, and with it a very snippy Hermione and a very snappish Snape, sitting in the front row of folding chairs as the auditions took place. And the very first squabble they had was over something comparatively minor…

"What's that you're chewing on like a cow?" Snape demanded.

"It's…gum, sir," Hermione answered, trying hard not to lose her cool. "Spearmint gum."

"Well, spit it out," he instructed. "You know there's a rule against gum in class."

"But…we're not in class," she reminded him testily. "Many professionals commonly…"

"I don't care about professionals, you silly girl," he snorted. "You're not going to be chewing that stuff next to me for the next hour of cruel and unusual punishment."

Although she really, really wanted to mouth off, and would have felt perfectly justified in doing so, and knew that her friend Harry Potter no doubt would have…she restrained herself and put the gum back in the wrapper.

Unfortunately, the turnout for auditions had been less than expected, and filling up the two hours' worth of program guide was going to be a strain. Still, the Potions Master seemed determined to banish as many of the talented hopefuls as possible from the running.

Granted, the assortment was a bit…unusual. It started with a girl from Hufflepuff, in a rather unusual costume. It looked a bit like zipped up striped pajamas, a straggly mop wig, and some sort of string attachment for a tail.

"Why is she dressed like a possessed scarecrow from a low budget horror film?" Snape inquired dismally.

"I think she's trying to be a cat," Hermione informed him. "You know, she's singing 'Memory' from the musical _Cats_ …"

"Profound correlation," he huffed. "She's evidently trying to create as garish a memory as she can upon the victimized minds of the onlookers. Thankfully, she won't get the chance to mar this production."

"That's…really not very fair, Professor," she chided. "I mean, she hasn't even sung yet."

He exhaled, then bellowed out at the stage, "Well, spit it out girl, and get it over with."

"I can't sing without my music, sir," she protested.

"Harry and Ron should be coming to hook up the sound systems any minute," Hermione assured.

Snape turned and glared at her. " _What?_ "

She shrugged. "They volunteered to help backstage."

"Those maladjusted idiots will no doubt electrocute themselves…" He paused for a moment, and smirked rather disturbingly at the premise.

"They'll do fine, they've been dealing with a lot of magic currents lately, and are getting the hang of things. They've even used their magic to plug in their guitars."

Snape's spine straightened. "You said…guitars?"

"Well, they've started something of a Boys' Band, really. You'll hear them perform shortly."

"What the…"

"Hey, sorry we're late," Ron announced as he and Harry lugged in the magic amp, with the promised electric guitars slung over their shoulders. "We wanted to get our instruments tuned up before…" His eyes fell on the dark visage of the potions master, and his mouth fell open.

"Oh…Professor Snape," Harry filled in, rather in a daze, then joined his friend in just staring blankly into what would surely be an excruciating backstage experience.

"Don't take my name in vain," Snape growled. "Do you have a reason for addressing me or don't you?"

"Uh…well, Hermione indicated it was going to be Professor McGonnagall who would…"

"She indicated wrong," he snapped. "Now tell your gaping hanger-on to shut his drooping jaw before he catches a fly."

Reluctantly, the two teens headed onstage to set up the sound system (after Ron made an expectedly ill-timed comment about the Hufflepuff girl's costume looking like something from a Rug-Rat themed slumber party). The process took a bit longer than expected, as they both plugged the wires into every conceivably wrong socket and tested the mic a zillion times.

"I think…I am going to fire them," Snape stated blandly.

"No, you can't!" Hermione protested. "They're the only ones who offered to do anything to help out in this department!"

"My snakes will surely be worlds more capable then these electronically stunted peasants," he growled.

"Professor, your snakes refused to even touch the new electrical systems," she huffed. "They consider it…beneath them."

"And right they are," he concurred haughtily. "We never should have bothered installing these primitive muggle wiring arrangements in the first place…"

"Remember, sir, change comes alike for the good and the…"

"Yowee! It's working!" Ron exclaimed exultantly as the music for the _Cats_ number started blaring over the sound system. The poor cat-costumed girl, who awkwardly had the microphone strung through her attire via an extension cord, seemed to be having trouble turning it on, but tried to sing over the music anyway. When the mic finally came on, her voice blasted out in a very catlike screech, nearly knocking Snape and Hermione out of their chairs.

"Alright, enough! SILENCE!" the professor bellowed over the din, finally encouraging Harry to pull the plug on the systems so they could all make an effort to restore their hearing.

The girl, onstage, looked mortified.

"Uh, I'll get back to you with the results, Nancy," Hermione chirped, trying to sound as positive as she could, even though she herself had a hand pressed over her ear nearest the amp.

Snape was giving her the death glare, and she quickly tossed in, "Don't worry, the next act is a dance routine. No singing." She tried grinning, but looked decidedly unconvincing.

The next act involved a Ravenclaw couple doing some sort of dance on a park bench prop. It went okay for about two minutes, but then the rather hefty lady dancer was supposed to be picked up and swung about by her rather scrawny male mate, who proceeded to lose balance and tip the bench over. Snape, perversely, clapped at this point, and Hermione gave him a scolding look.

"Wasn't that supposed to be the laugh line?" he drawled as the kerfuffled couple straightened themselves up and started to reassemble their somewhat disassembled bench.

The next up was none other than the intrepid electronic whizzes, Harry and Ron in their role as boys' band idols. The name of the band: "High on the Hog." They assured Snape it was meant to pay some homage to their alma mater. He seemed…less than convinced. As soon as they finished tuning up their guitars (yet again…it seemed to be a pseudo-religious ritual for them), they began to jam a merry beat to the tune of "Wild Thing." This lasted for about twenty seconds before Snape stood, made a beeline for the amp systems main plug, and pulled it out with definitive finality, draining the life out of both their super-mics and their sacred strumming. He then wordlessly directed them off the stage, with his hand extended like the ghost of Christmas future showing Scrooge his grave.

The rest of the day proceeded with a succession of colorful acts, including a couple of wand twirlers who twirled too little and dropped too much, as well as almost setting the curtains on fire when one tried to do a "glow-in-the-dark" segment.

There was a boy who claimed his guinea pig could do tricks, although said pig seemed more interested in staring and sniffing in a rather lethargic manner before getting spooked by something and proceeding to bite his young master. Snape, with a groan, went into first-aid mode to staunch the bleeding and cheerfully inject his young charge with a rather large needle from his emergence kit just in case the poor creature started foaming at the mouth.

Another girl came out dressed in something out of an American Western TV serial towards the tail end of the golden age, singing in a very piercing pitch, "The Sun in the Morning and the Moon at Night," and attempted a clumsy dance at the end in her spur-spiked high-heeled boots. She proceeded to fall and scrape her leg with a rusty spur…again causing Snape to groan, go for his emergency equipment, staunch blood flow, and pleasantly give her the needle…for the sake of blood poisoning prevention, of course.

Then, brightening up his overall view of life just a tad, the lone Slytherin stepped out onto the stage. It was none other than the charmed and charmless Draco Malfoy, decked out in a long black cape and a top hat and half a mask, preparing to sing "Music of the Night" from _Phantom of the Opera_.

"Finally," Snape exhaled. "Some talent."

"We'll see," Hermione clucked. "Ready, Malfoy?"

"Don't rush me, muggle-born," he hissed. "I have to do my warm-up exercises first."

"Warm-up exercises…"

"A background of prestige requires extra consideration," Snape sniffed.

"Right, get on with it, Malfoy," Hermione snarled.

He proceeded to make lots of weird noises in the pit of his throat, bitterly complain about his mic not being loud enough to Harry and Ron, who nearly pummeled him, and then he began to sing. The singing, even Hermione had to admit, was good to a point, even if he seemed like he was trying too hard. But then in the middle of nowhere, his voice sputtered and he started coughing. It completely sabotaged his style, and he went into a lengthy excuse about how he needed to suck on lemons to keep his sensitive vocal chords in shape…

But even Snape seemed a bit less than convinced about the excuse of his prized puppy, muttering rather blandly, "Lemons…lots of lemons…"

Meanwhile, as the procession of doomed acts proceeded, Hermione had started having lunch, a rather messy sloppy Joe sandwich, which she promptly attempted to foist on Snape (he declined rudely), a tropical fruit juice box, Cheddar Extreme goldfish crackers, and a jumbo banana nut muffin. She then brought out a bottle of some type of pills and took two.

"What are those for?" Snape queried.

"It's…it's my time," she stated.

He started to look her over strangely, and then suspiciously over at the noble electronics team at the side of the stage. "What…are you saying Ms. Granger?"

"No, no, nothing like THAT!" she blurted, turning red. "I mean…that time of month."

"Oh."

"Yes, you see, I get headaches, and…"

"Those pills help with headaches?"

"Well, yes, umm…oh…" Before she could go any further, he had snatched the bottle and taken two of them himself.

It was timely, too, because the next person out was Professor Trelawney, with a roll-on piano.

"Wait, what?" He looked at Hermione desperately. "But she's a member of the staff!"

"It's allowed, professor," Hermione assured, as Trelawney began a rather excited version of "Carol of the Bells"…which she messed up about three times.

"But…why is she playing Christmas music in September? It's horrible even in November!"

"It's her all-year favorite," Hermione explained. "Besides, it's going to be a medley. She also does 'English Country Garden', 'Swanee River', and the national anthem of Thailand. Nice for international flavor, y'know?"

After Trelawney was finished, and asked with pathetic nervousness if she had done alright, which even made Snape feel slightly sorry for her, an even more illustrious appearance was made…

"Hagrid?!"

"He's apparently been taking breakdancing lessons," Hermione explained.

"WHAT?!"

It was too late to stop the atrocity as the electro-hip-hop music blared across the speakers, accompanied by a sequin-studded Hagrid making some type of awkward gyrating motions to the wild applause of Hermione, Harry, and Ron. Snape just looked like he might throw up on his assistant's magical pink 3-D folder.

But after all was said and done, even Hermione was a little bit stunned when Neville Longbottom appeared onstage with what looked like some sort of complicated chemistry experiment on a wheel-in table.

"Bloody hell, he'll blow the damned building apart!" Snape blurted.

Neville, who evidently had not realized that Snape was head honcho of the operation, froze in horror as the voice of his boggart metamorphosized.

"Oh…oh…Pr…pr…professor…Sn…sn…I…I was just going to…"

"Going to what, Longbottom, commit scholastic genocide?" Snape sneered.

"Professor, you're throwing him off," Hermione exhaled.

" _Off_ is a mild way of putting his ability range."

"Now, this isn't class…you've got to give him a chance…" She stood up from her chair and called out to the stage, "It's alright, Neville, I'd like to see your project."

"You're encouraging the execution your own demise," Snape predicted.

But Neville was already setting up his equipment, and announcing in a shaky voice, "Today, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to be showing you how to make a chemically-powered rocket…"

Snape very nearly leapt out of his chair, but Hermione gripped his arm and faced him down with an almost menacing grin.

"First, I'm going to add this formula…uh…the blue one…I forget the name…let me read the label…" Neville squinted at it. "Hydr-el-erm…well, anyway, I'm to mix it with this one…this yellow-colored that turns green when I mix them…oh, rats…" The test tube slipped out of his hand and rolled across the stage. "Let me just…uh…get that one…"

"I believe we get the general… _picture_ ," Snape declared. "Now remove yourself and your weapons of mass destruction from the stage area to make room for the next act…"

"There is no next act," Hermione informed, waving the list in front of him.

"What…?" Snape squinted. "Surely you jest."

"Surely I don't, sir."

"But…there's not a fraction of enough talent to make a bloody show of this, not unless…"

"We accept everyone who auditioned and do a sing-along and give out snacks to the lengthen the intermission."

Snape looked horrified. "I…want no part of this."

"Professor, I…don't either. But we have no choice. We have to simply do the best with what we've got."

"You're just hell-bent on credits like a she-shark after blood!"

She exhaled. "We all have chips in the game, all have eggs in the basket, all have…"

"A lot of bull in the head," he snarked.

"Professor _SNAPE!_ " She had just about had enough of him, and even her self-preservation instinct was starting to wear thin. But seeing a dangerous gleam in his eye that courted the option of point snatching or detention, she let out her breath of hot air and inquired as meekly as possible, "Might I have your cell phone number, please?"

"You're not getting me sucked into another date at that damned Italian place and then try to sic the bill on me."

"No, no, _no_ , you know perfectly well that's _not_ …" She bit her tongue. "Look, I just will need to phone so we can coordinate our schedules in preparation for the big day, and, well, now that everyone here in Hogwarts has a cell phone…it makes it easier than owls!"

"It's a cruel breach of tradition," he grumbled. "I don't like to use the bloody thing; don't even have the number in my mind…"

"Well, then you can…owl it to me." She grinned with an admirably determined brilliance, waved in a rather cutesy fashion in the face of his blank visage, and practically skipped out of the room, feeling as if she had been released from a lifetime of imprisonment for the love of educational furtherment.


	3. Chapter 3: Dress Rehearsal Disasters

Chapter 3: Dress Rehearsal Disasters

While Professor Snape did finally relinquish the information regarding his cell phone number, Hermione was soon to regret giving him hers. With his nerves fraying further as the show drew closer, "checking in" with Hermione to berate her randomly for the evils of the universe became his seemingly sole consolation. Not to mention checking several hundred times about list of acts, which he then proceeded to alter ten minutes after each assurance of the "latest" program objective. And always, always, he would end off by expressing his disgust at the concept of a part-time singalong for show time stalling purposes.

And to make phone matters even worse…he had a keenly offbeat sense of when a call should be made. This included at lunch break, when Hermione was literally visible to him from across the room, and in the middle of any class she might have been in, barring his own. And if she didn't answer, he'd be sure to tyrannically deduct multiple points from her for "negligence." To put it simply, Hermione was fairly certain he was going loony. Even his hair and cloak seemed a tad bit messier than usual…which was saying something, to be sure.

Hermione tried gallantly to bear the brunt of it all, both for the sake of credit score and an increasing sense that everyone's least favorite teacher… _needed_ her. He certainly didn't deserve her, but he needed her all the same, and as much as he was disliked, she didn't relish the prospect of him going bananas backstage and having to be carried out by magical men in white coats. It would be an embarrassment to the school, after all, and well…unlike some, she just wasn't that much of a meanie to see it as a desirable outcome. So she did her best to soldier on.

But the soldiering on bit reached the near breaking point the day of dress rehearsal. In the middle of divination class, her cell began jingling to the tune of "Let It Go." Professor Trelawney, knowing well who it no doubt was, extended an understanding permission for Hermione to dash out into the hall in the name of super-show preplanning.

"Hello…?" she answered it.

Per usual, five seconds of total silence elapsed.

"Professor Snape, I know that it's you," she huffed.

"Always the know-it-all," he grumbled under his breath, slowly recovering from his intro phone duh. She heard the rustle of papers and a random piano chord being jammed down in the background. "Look, I've got three different keys marked down for that crazy cat girl, and it got jumbled up with little Miss Annie Oakley's number…hear this?"

He proceeded to bang out a chord, which sounded nothing like a chord.

She exhaled. "Sir, let's just leave it to Professor Trelawney, now that she'll be covering some of the background music for the acts…"

"You daft, girl? She's an addle-headed nervous wreck…" Again, he pounded out a chord, muttering incoherently under his breath. "…And she has an appalling sense of timing…" Another louder rustle of papers, indicating he probably dropped the entire pile. " _Damn!_ "

Hermione winced. "Professor, I can't stay on the phone…"

"Then why don't you get the hell down here where you can be some use?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because, sir, I'm in the middle of classes…"

"What classes?"

"Like…the other classes people take in this school besides potions," she ground out. "They do exist, believe it or not."

"Don't get snippy with me, Granger," he snapped. "When I have a project to complete, no matter how unpleasant, I go all the way…"

She heard a loud crash sound, like the piano lid collapsing, and another succession of censorable oaths. She was starting to think she should make a beeline down to the stage area as soon as feasible, lest he accidentally destroyed everything before rehearsal could even commence.

"Professor, I'll get down to you as soon as I can," she exhaled. "Uh…hold down the fort, okay?"

He grunted inaudibly, and she decided that was enough for the present and hung up promptly, just as he started to mention his prejudice against any form of audience participation again.

At this point, Hermione decided that if she was going to live through the project, she was going to need reinforcements, forceful enough to keep Snape in check. So as soon as there was a bathroom break, she stole away to the ladies lavatory where she could be sure of her privacy, and dialed up the stalwart headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall.

For a while, it rang into space, and Hermione was concerned that the indomitable elder lady had forgotten to take her phone off the vibrator setting. She was even more old school than Snape, albeit less cranky about it, and getting in the swing of modern "convenience" was still taking her a bit to get used to. But patience paid off, and eventually she answered.

"Greetings, Professor McGonagall speaking," came the Scottish-accented voice.

"Hello, Professor! It's Hermione…"

"Ah, Miss Granger, what can I do for you at this rather strange midsession hour?"

"Well…umm…do you think you might be able to make it down to the dress rehearsal for the show this evening?"

"I'd love to, dearie, but I'm a bit detained organizing assignments for…"

"Professor, it's sort of an emergency."

"What's that?"

"It's Professor Snape. He's…been acting a bit odd lately. I mean, he's always been…hardcore. And over the years, we students have learned to survive that sort of thing. But now, since he's been production manager, the closer the show gets, the more irrational he acts. Like, in class, he's repeating assignments left and right, and giving us homework for stuff we haven't even gone over, and has pretty much expelled everyone in class…but we just sort of ignore him and come back anyway, since he'll have forgotten by the next morning. He just wasn't cut out to be a showman! To put it simply…he's acting like a demented four-year-old with a multi-colored finger painting project and too much time on his hands!" she blurted out in a rush.

"Now Miss Granger," McGonagall addressed her sternly. "Remember respect for you teachers."

She exhaled. "I'm sorry, Ma'am."

There was a moment of silence, and then Minerva said, "Although that might have been a fair summation of the situation if I do say so myself. So…I'll see what I do to help avert a high casualty rate for the rehearsal."

"Oh, thank you professor! Thank you!"

When Hermione finally arrived at the stage area after classes, she discovered that Ron and Harry were already milling around onstage with Snape yelling at them for messing with the lighting system to create a psychedelic rainbow effect for Hagrid's dance number. He was also predicting that the routine itself was doomed to cause the collapse of the castle in totality.

In spite of everything, Hermione decided she was going to be the bigger person. "Hello, Professor Snape," she greeted him cheerily, extended something towards him wrapped in brown paper. "I thought might be getting hungry with all the work you've been doing, so I picked up a sandwich for you."

He took it suspiciously, unpeeled part of the paper, and started to sniff at it strangely. Then he threw the thing at the piano like it was a hydrogen bomb about to explode. " _Bloody Hell!_ "

"What?!" Hermione demanded, exasperated. "It's just a sandwich!"

"Just a sandwich indeed, Lurcrezia Borgia!"

Salvation arrived just in the nick of time in the form of McGonnagall.

"Severus! What on earth is the matter?"

"Keep a shorter leash on your Gryffindors!" he growled, gesturing to Hermione. "This one here nearly tried to poison me!"

"Poison you?!" Hermione blurted. "I…I don't know what you're…"

"Mayonnaise," he hissed. "Don't tell you didn't know this sandwich contained it; I know you did! I can tell by that insidious gleam in your eyes."

"Wait…you can _smell_ mayonnaise?" she queried in disbelief.

"Don't try and change the subject!"

"I'm not! I just never equated mayonnaise to poison!"

"Severus," Minerva addressed him calmly. "Are you saying…well, you have an allergy?"

The way she had phrased it made him sound more than a little like a small child in need of pediatric care, so he retorted, red in the face, "I…I am simply negatively affected…"

"Like hives? Headaches? Stomach cramps? Nausea?

" _Minerva_ …"

"Oh, that sounds terrible!" Hermione had to admit. "My condolences."

"Condolences?!" He threw his arms up in exasperation. "See, see, she's preparing for a job as undertaker!"

"Don't worry, professor," Hagrid said, genially ambling over. "I'll devour that pernicious beastie for ya…"

Snape squinted. "You just _had_ a sandwich."

"Well, I've burning off a lot of energy what with my dance practice sessions."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Moving on to brighter things," McGonnagall chirped. "Guess what I brought along?"

"Suicide tabs to go with the other mealtime supplements provided for me?"

"No, something even more exciting," she assured, then whisked over to the doorway. "Come in, Miss Lamont."

A doe-eyed string-bean-thin model sashayed into the room. "The First Minister heard about our little production, and was so excited, he enticed her to come down and feature her act, which she's done on tour many times."

Severus stared at her glumly. "What sort of act?"

The young lady in question batted her eyelashes and said salaciously, "I'll show you."

Then she strode up on stage and began to sing. She had an alright voice, and Snape was beginning to dare the hope that they'd gotten a decent act in after all. Then, after a minute or so, she wandered behind some sort of prop screen, still singing, and Snape's eyebrows rose as he observed bits of clothing being thrown over the edge.

"What's…happening here?" he queried concernedly.

"Umm…I…er…" Hermione stammered, but had no answer for him.

"Minerva?!" He turned to the headmistress desperately as a slip was thrown of the screen. "What kind of act _is_ this?"

"I…never saw the act before, Severus," McGonnagall confess, in a bit of mystification. "All I know was that it was favorite of the First Minister's…"

"Yes, I can imagine…" He shrank against his director's chair uncomfortably, and gave his color a tug. "Look, I don't believe I want to see this in its full splendor…let me know when it's over…"

He started to stand up to make a hasty exit, but just then the young lady in question popped out from behind the screen, dressed in a eye-sore of a blonde wig and a skimpy Marilyn Monroe costume. She had barely had the chance to strut her stuff (egged on by the encouraging wolf whistles of the electronics and prop set-up teen dream team), when Snape, in a record time maneuver, nabbed a piece of extra stage curtain lying near the table, marched towards the stage, and threw it on her with all the ceremony of a horse blanket.

"We're not at the frolicking follies, madam! Get yourself decent!"

She looked positively purple with rage, and promptly skulked off stage and down the hall, never to be heard or seen again. The boys back stage were understandably distraught. The girls in the wings were a bit let down too.

"Professor Snape! You just scared off the First Minister's favorite act!" Hermione moaned. "Her inclusion might have won us the patronage we need to keep the school running!"

Snape shrugged. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I suppose I shall have to adapt my humble tastes to the high and mighty flavors of pervert politicians."

And Minerva, in spite of herself, smiled.

Re-watching all of the less-than-promising acts was sheer pain for production management crew. Although they expressed it in different ways, Snape and Hermione were united in their realization that the outcome for the following evening was fairly set in stone. The only things that had really changed were not particularly helpful…at least, not for viewing purposes.

Draco had made a point of bringing along a lemon, which he was sucking on annoyingly for much of the time. Cowgirl had attached big gobs of putty to her spurs to keep herself from getting scratched and had dropped her dance bit at the end. The trick guinea pig now had a mini muzzle on it. And Neville was once again waved off stage before he could even get past go with his rocket.

"Really, Severus, you go too hard on that boy," McGonnagall chided him as the two of them walked down the corridor after Hermione had snuck away to try and steal a few hours sleep before the big day. "I see great things for him in his future…"

"Do you consider mass explosions to be great things?" he drawled.

"Always the negative one," she sighed.

"Alright, I'll be positive," he decided. "A mass explosion at the finale of the show might be a merciful way to erase all memory of it from the minds of the viewers."

"I rather thought it was a charming little production," McGonnagall offered.

"As charming as a suicide squad," he concurred, dismally.

"Actually…I really felt my little Gryffindor lions out-did themselves tonight," she twitted. "And even if 'High on the Hog' does not make it to the top charts as a band, I could definitely see it plastered on the side of one of those electronics trucks if those two fine young men go into that line of work in the muggle world someday."

Snape glowered at her. "Minerva, have did you take a course on throwing someone an anchor when they're drowning?"

"Oh, you should have a little more faith in your students, Severus," she said sweetly. "They're not a bad lot altogether. You give a little and they give a lot back, you know."

"No, I don't know," he grumbled. "I'm not trying to launch a share-a-thon of frosted hearts and chocolate frogs. Obedience and respect should come with rank, end of story."

"But sometimes a little fairness, patience, and human understanding go a long way. Honey has more of an effect than vinegar."

"More of an effect at what…?"

"At catching flies."

"I usually just beat them flat with a copy of that gossip rag 'The Daily Prophet.'"

Minerva chuckled a little wryly.

"What?" he challenged, although a certain glimmer in his usually dark eyes indicated he as much in on his own joke as anyone.

"I do believe, Severus, you are my favorite house rival."

He paused, his eyebrow shooting up. "But I'm merciless, madam."

"I've just known you too long," she sighed. "For all your faults, and our disagreements on method, and even for our house rivalries, I don't believe I'd like to see this place without you."

He shrugged, but she sensed that he was liking it a bit more than he would ever want to let on. "You know I have nothing but professional respect you, Minerva," he admitted lowly, "even if your house underlings are a bunch of rambunctious show-off brats…"

"Who I will defend tooth and nail," she shot back, with a look that indicated both play and dead seriousness.

"Indubitably. What can a snake hope to achieve in the face of a lioness?"

She blushed slightly, and he bowed slightly, as if to an opponent following a duel. Then they both headed off in opposite directions to retreat to the comfort of their quarters.


	4. Chapter 4: The Gauntlet Begins

Chapter 4: The Gauntlet Begins

The day of the show started in a less than promising fashion. Snape's behavior in class reached a level of irrationality unparalleled, death-glaring at anything that breathed, and chewing out anyone who moved. Detentions and demerits were being inflicted haphazardly. By the end, he very nearly sentenced the entire class to a ten-page-long essay assignment on a rare herb found growing along a certain obscure river in Uganda.

Hermione, at risk of her life and school status, found it necessary to remind him about the necessity of everyone being at the show that evening, and if they were all working on this extravagant assignment, he'd be the lone wolf howling at the moon backstage with a crowd full of high and might ministry representatives and no show. With great pain and reluctance, the professor postponed the Ugandan herb expedition.

That evening when Snape finally arrived at the stage area, he found Ron manning the ticket booth, setting up a demo CD rack to correspond with their monogrammed tee-shirts depicting a pig with wings, their band's mascot, evocative of a hog on high.

"Whoa, there, Professor," Ron halted him. "Sorry, you can't go backstage yet."

Snape's eyes flared. "What…? I am the production manager!"

"Yeah, but you don't have a name tag."

"Name tag?!"

"Yup, Hermione said nobody gets backstage without a name tag."

"Listen, you obnoxious little urchin…"

"Oh, Professor, perfect timing!" Hermione chirped, rushing out to him and pasting something on the front of his black school gown. "I just got yours made up!"

He looked down and read the tag, inscribed in blizzard blue glitter gel: " _Hello, my name is Severus. Ask me about Potions_."

"You can't be serious…"

"It's good for organizational purposes!" She pointed to her own tag, inscribed in hot pink: " _Hello, my name is Hermione. Ask me about Anything_."

He rolled his eyes muttering, "Know-it-all, frizzy-haired, long-toothed little…" as she gleefully escorted him backstage.

The world behind the curtains was one of chaotic impromptu practicing. Snape nearly tripped over the trick guinea pig whose master was trying desperately to teach him how to fetch. Then he nearly got struck in the face by a flying baton as the juggling girls tried in vain to polish their catching skills. Draco was pacing around, practicing his voice exercises whilst continuing to suck on his lemon, and Harry was busy practicing his "killer" finale for "Wild Thing" on the electric guitar. Little Miss Annie Oakley was also busy trying to practice her near-deadly dance routine, which she had decided to throw back in, last minute.

"Don't you feel invigorated just watching them all?" Hermione sighed with unwarranted euphoria. "We've got such an enthusiastic group!"

Snape blinked. "I feel…like my life is flashing before me…"

Just then, a small stumbling creature crashed into Snape from the rear.

"Oh, Dobby is sorry, Dobby is so sorry, Professor sir…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "What, now you've got house elves involved? As if things couldn't be self-destructed any further than they already are…"

"Dobby is here for Harry Potter," Dobby clarified. "Harry Potter is Dobby's friend; he made him a member of the band refreshment committee. He gave Dobby a sock." The house elf pulled out the threadbare four-year-old sock that was desperately in need of a good washing, and waved it about triumphantly under Snape's nose.

"You call that thing… _refreshing_?!"

"Er…Dobby," Hermione jumped in before Snape could crush his sensitive feelings by incinerating the stinky sock with a blast from his wand. "Did you bring the cooler for us all as requested?"

Dobby nodded excitedly, and lugged a cooler backstage filled with various bottled beverages and almost too much ice, bearing the magic marker declaration along the side: " _Property of High on the Hog, Inc._ "

"Does professor want a drink?" Dobby offered, snatching out a bottle of blue raspberry Gatorade.

"No, professor most certainly _does not_ ," he growled. "If I must perish in the pursuit, I still don't want it to be as a result of toxic food coloring flowing through my veins, thank you very much."

"Here, Dobs, I'll have some," Harry offered, snatching up the bottle and guzzling it down. "You're a real pal." Then, with his mouth still dyed a rather unhealthy blue of shade, he continued to strum maniacally on his instrument.

"No one should have to try and rub you out," Snape huffed under his breath. "You're doing a very fine job of it yourself. Pure poison!"

Just then, Snape's cell phone began to ring to the cheery tune of "O Fortuna". He answered it with a curt, "What is it?!" His eyes grew wide. "Trelawney, slow down, I can't…what?! Where are you? Quit talking a mile a minute, I can't even hear…" He shot a look to the very loud show people practicing, and bellowed, "STOP THIS INSTANT! ALL OF YOU!"

Magically, everyone did just that, and looked a bit like they were afraid the castle roof would come down.

Snape smirked cynically. "Just didn't want you all to hurt yourselves," he insisted with faux sweetness, retreating to a stage corner with his phone. "Alright, Trelawney, what the hell is holding you up? The audience is already starting to arrive, and we need you at the piano…what?! Aberdeen? Why the…where? In jail?!"

"Professor, what's going on?" Hermione demanded in a desperate whisper.

He put out his hand to stop her, then blurted to Trelawney, "Stand by, we'll send someone. Out." He pressed the end button and exploded, "DAMN!"

"What?! What's going on?" Hermione pleaded for the answer.

"Some muggle police nitwit pulled her over for speeding, and found her herb kit from divination class," he explained. "They assumed…well…oh, who the hell cares, the audience is filling up, and she needs to be here!"

"Oh, then, what will we do?" Hermione gasped.

"Eh…get that crazy werewolf menace to go down and bail her out."

"Professor Lupin is not a crazy werewolf menace!" she huffed. "He's a sensitive soul and a fine teacher, and just because he almost killed you twice, that's no reason to think ill of him!"

Snape gave her a very telling glare.

"Alright, okay, so that came out a little weird," Hermione admitted. "But you didn't exactly help things last year either, what with skipping over lesson and that whole page 394 thing, just rat out the poor guy…"

"Miss Granger, you mind your turn of phrase," Snape growled. "I've had more than enough experiences with rats and wolves and mangy dogs to very kindly turn you over to all of them. But I'm afraid someone around here has to have more sense than our illustrious headmaster when it comes to a hiring policy, and until someone with better brains shows up, it'll just have to be me. That he didn't fire him as a safety hazard after last year is inconceivable, but conceive it we must. So we might as well put him to some service for the common good."

Hermione exhaled. "Alright, would you like me to give him a call?"

"I'm quite capable of taking care of it myself," he huffed, starting to search out his number on his phone. "Meanwhile, you'd best come up with a plan for this music scarcity. Who did we have up first on our list?"

"You put Draco for the first act, sir," she sighed.

Snape shuddered. "Think he could cover it _a capella_?"

"I…highly doubt that."

"Well, have any brighter ideas then?" he ground out.

She put her finger to her cheek thoughtfully. "Maybe…something…let me have a talk with Draco."

"You do that," he advised while jabbing at the numbers. "The Marauder mauler better pick up…damn it, answering service! Why that beastly, incompetent…"

Hermione decided it best to just abandon him to his rude message leaving and beckoned the golden-haired, snobby-nosed Slytherin over to the side.

"Why are you taking me off my mark, muggle-born? I need to continue my voice exercises!"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Umm…Draco, good news for you! We've made you our opening act."

Draco sniffed haughtily. "So you've finally come to your senses about your betters in the realm of the fine arts…"

"Something like that," she conceded with a fake grin. "There's just…one small addition I'd like to bring to your attention." She waved over Harry and Ron.

"What do _they_ have to do with _my_ act?" he demanded, incensed.

"Boys, the fact is that Professor Trelawney has been…unavoidably detained," Hermione explained. "As such, we have no accompanying pianist."

"Then…what's to be done? My rendition demands accompaniment!" Draco fumed.

"Right," Hermione grinned. Then she looked from the guitarists over to the vocalist and back again. "I'll let you boys…uhh…work it out."

"Oh, 'Mione!" Ron moaned. "You mean… _with him_?"

"Seriously? Play with him?" Harry repeated, aghast.

"With _ME?!_ " Draco gasped. "This is a travesty! My father will hear about this!"

"Look, guys, we have no time for this…hear all that clapping outside? The Minister of Magic and his entourage has arrived! Now get with the program!"

She rushed back over to Professor Snape, who was slumped in his lime green director's folding chair, looking rather out of sorts and muttering recessively over the fact that there were still participants running late.

"Professor, maybe you should give everyone here a little pep talk," she suggested.

He stared at her blankly. "Did you just say… _pep_?"

"Well, some other kind of talk then," she sighed. "Just something to unify them before going out there. I mean, after all, you are their leader!"

He rolled his eyes, and slowly stood up from his chair. He walked methodically to the center of the floor, and then barked, " _Eyes to front_."

Everyone jumped a little, and automatically did as instructed. He put his hands behind his back, and began lowly, menacingly, "We have all been drawn together by forces…beyond our control. As such, as gruesome as it may be, we are doomed to share the same fate. I will not have any whiners, shirkers, or deserters on this mission. All of you have a part to play in this Titanic undertaking, and will do so with suitable comportment…or else. Some of you may be pelted mercilessly with an assortment of raw vegetables, and thus require medical aid by curtain's close. But that is a sacrifice…which I am willing to make. So if you must fall, at least do so gracefully. The Minister of Magic is out there watching, and you do not want to disappoint him…or, with more pertinence in terms of your immediate survival chances, disappoint me, since I am most likely going to be the one who has to clean you up in the end. Any questions?"

Everyone looked somewhat distressed and self-conscious about their immediate future.

Hermione looked flabbergasted. " _That_ was a pep talk…?"

Before Snape could slam her down for questioning his methods, Hagrid came ambling backstage.

"You're late," Snape noted tersely.

"Sorry 'bout that, Professor," he fumbled. "Just ran into li'l Nancy, and she wanted to be here to sing her _Cats_ number, but can't…bad tummy ache from eating a bad batch of fudge I sent her to cheer her up before show time."

"You poisoned one of our performers?!"

"Well, those batter recipes can be kinda tricky…maybe I shouldn't have added so much mayo..."

"You definitely poisoned one of our performers," Snape faced facts.

"Professor, we can't wait any longer. The crowd is getting restless. I've got to get out there and start the introductions," Hermione stated.

Snape made an odd gesture with his chin, and she took it for a go-ahead to face the firing squad. So as the curtain rose, Hermione sauntered out onstage doing her best to give an optimistic introduction. She greeted the Minister of Magic, who was seated front row with Headmaster Dumbledore and their distinguished entourage, and honestly promised them "a night to remember."

Immediately after she darted back behind the curtain, the three unlikely paired musical wonders Harry, Ron, and Draco marched out onstage. Snape and Hermione found themselves watching in glued horror as Draco struggled to synchronize his voice with the electric guitar jamming duo, which seemed determined to pick up the tempo of the song no matter the obstacles. He proceeded to come off like a screeching crow, unable to hear himself over the din. And it was pretty evident that the guitarists were enjoying every minute of it.

Actually, the more Draco lost himself in his dark night of the musical soul, the more Harry and Ron seemed to get confident with their fancy electronic effects, strumming like rock stars and seeming to slip into a state of ecstatic maniacal bliss. It then became evident they had rigged the lights to come on with a multi-colored disco effect mid-song, successfully blinding Draco in addition to rendering him tone deaf. They, however, seemed pleasantly immune to their own destructive force.

When the song mercifully concluded, the High on the Hog self-promo-agents took the opportunity to start a little speech about their tee-shirts and demo albums. It was Snape's breaking point. He strode over to the piano at the side of the stage, opened it angrily, and jammed down on the keys as hard as possible. This succeeded in gaining their attention, and facing the glare of wrath aimed in their direction. They promptly wrapped things up and retreated backstage to face the music.

Draco looked as if he had been through severe emotional trauma, and even Hermione was starting to feel a bit sorry for him.

"You okay, Draco?" she tried consoling him tentatively. "Want to…sit down? Have some Gatorade?" She pulled out a tropical punch flavored bottle, and extended it towards him.

But he just stamped his foot on the floor, bit his lip, and stormed off towards the boys' changing room. Harry and Ron, still quivering under the look of doom emanating from Snape's dark eyes, were soon ordered to follow with one harsh thrust of their professor's hand in that general direction.

Hermione approached Snape tentatively, seeing the way he had slumped forward on the piano with his hand over his face. "Well…I suppose that went as well as could be expected," she tried, with a forced grin.

Snape turned to her and maintained a totally understandable scowl, and hissed through gritted teeth, "Twenty – points – from…"

Just then, there was a cacophony of noise, as if a brawl had broken out back in the boys' changing room. "What in the world?" Hermione exclaimed, darting in the direction of the action, before Snape could stop her in the name of propriety.

The next minute, Snape heard a very female scream, went to the back and saw a rather colorful display. Harry, Ron, the Weasley twins, Draco, and several other of his Slytherin cronies were absolutely drenched in rainbow paint.

Hermione, gazing down at the rainbow paint splattering her smart and sassy MC outfit, looked fragmentized, as if she had wandered into a war zone and found herself in the midst of a not-so-friendly fire incident.

"Alright, how did you all get in here? And who started up with the magic paint ball? ANSWER ME." He grabbed Ron by the ear randomly, as a sort of hostage and victim soul, and heard them all mumble unsatisfactory blame for the other party under their breath. "Not… _good enough_. This has house Gryffindor written _all over it_."

"It was not!" Harry protested. "It was a Slytherin vendetta!"

"Not another word, you little rock monster! We'll deal with this crime and punishment immediately after surviving this musically inclined holocaust."

Snape scanned the still stunned Hermione briefly, huffed, and then snatched the hideous old Power Ranger brand rain coat lying over a couch. "Put that on," he instructed blandly. "Should cover most of the kaleidoscopic eyesore you have become."

"But…but I'm the MC!" she shrieked. "And…and that thing is…is…"

"Miss Granger, I will have no patience with your hysterics," he blurted, becoming increasingly agitated in light of the impatient top brass audience in waiting. "Now get yourself on that stage to announce the next act…"

"I'm not being hysterical!" she yelped. "But I'm not going out looking hideous!"

"I'm afraid I don't particularly see any difference," he hissed.

Unexpectedly, she opened her mouth but no words came out. Her face was turning red.

"And don't tell me you've lost your jabbering tongue now, Miss Granger!" he snarled. "It's been too consistent a nuisance just to up and vanish upon the realization that you're a flippin' far cry from Marilyn Monroe!"

And then she blinked back what seemed to be water in her eyes. "That's it! I'm done! Run your own show, I don't care, you're cruel and terrible, and…and I'm leaving!" With that she bolted for the back stage.

"Come back here, young lady!" Snape was about to chase after her and loudly threaten to have her expelled if she abandoned the production in a state of crisis, but Minerva McGonagall was standing in the stage entry, having evidently come to "check up" on the proceedings. Her arms were crossed and her expression was even more cross.

"I'm ashamed of you, Severus," McGonagall scolded him. "Just look what you've done to her."

"What?!" he demanded. "She can't just run out on a school assignment, over a little splattering of paint…"

"You've been acting like a monstrous ogre to the poor child! How much do you think anyone can take of that before breaking?"

"Minerva, would you kindly remove yourself from my path?" he grunted, his eyes narrowing. "I _need_ to get her back here."

"Over my dead body!" she refused. "There's a 99% chance she's retreated to the ladies' restroom for sanctuary, and there's no chance in Hades I'm letting the likes of you chase one of my little lionesses in there!"

"I wouldn't actually _go in_ …"

"No, but you _would_ stand outside the door growling and threatening, and think how that would look on the security cameras?"

"We…have security cameras installed here?" he inquired in disbelief. "That's…sacrilege to our way of life! Even worse than the cell phones!"

"They were a long time in coming," she exhaled. "Think of all the life-threatening disasters we could have prevented, and all the mysteries that could have easily been solved in the past if we did! Furthermore…" She lowered her tone into a harsh whisper. "I don't want the first mystery to be why the head of one of our houses was raving like a lunatic outside the girls' loo! Viewers of the captured film might misconstrue the circumstances and think you were…dare I say it… _up to something_."

He blinked. "Right, so…will you go get her then?"

"You don't deserve it."

"Look, you're the one who came up the idea for the bloody show to begin with!" he exploded, practically turning purple. "You've got – to – _help!_ "

Minerva eyed him sternly. "Mind your manners, young man, or no one will help you with anything. Ever."

All the same, he was relieved to note that she did head off, seemingly in the direction of the sanctuary realm of womankind.


	5. Chapter 5: The Big Bang

Chapter 5: The Big Bang

McGonagall was quite correct about locating Hermione in the girl's restroom, where she could be heard sobbing her eyes out all the way down the hall. No doubt she was even putting Moaning Myrtle to shame, but then again, dealing with Professor Snape consistently on any long-term project tended to have this effect. He was nervous breakdown material on hyper-drive. But somehow, Minerva was determined to get her to show a stiff upper lip about it.

"Now, Miss Granger, child," she said softly from outside. "There's really no need to take it so very to heart. He's much worse about the bark than the bite, you know."

"He's…he's _horrible_!" Hermione sobbed from inside.

"He's…less than pleasant," Minerva granted.

"He's sadistic!"

"He…has a few personality deficiency issues," Minerva concurred. "But…er, can we not discuss it out here, hmm? It'll be far easier than having a door in between us."

 _At least getting her outside would be a step in the right direction._

Slowly Hermione opened the door, and Minerva clicked her tongue while observing the girl's state. Her eyes were red and puffy, her usually frizzy hair was even wilder than usual, and her clothes were a near-blinding, magical paint rainbow. And she really looked like she could use a hug, so the sympathetic headmistress shelved her rank and gave her one.

"Ohhh…Professor McGonagall," she sniffled. "Did he have to say those things? In front of the boys?!"

 _Oh, now Minerva understood a little better. Children do grow up so fast…._

"Yes, he was being most inconsiderate and unkind," she agreed. "He doesn't deserve your help. Lord, maybe he deserves a wooden spoon, if I were of a mind…"

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle softly at that image.

"But you know something? Believe it or not, I really thinks he appreciates you more than you know. After all, you and he share a similar keenness of wit, and whatever he may say to you, he has grudgingly admitted you are one of the brightest bulbs in his class. Sometimes…it might just require reading between the lines a bit. I'm afraid that his decidedly negative attitude towards humanity has at least partially been derived from his own experience. He has been shown little kindness over the years, and fears either giving or receiving anything of the sort."

Hermione blinked. "What is it you see in him, Professor? It's as if you understand him in a way none of us are able to, in spite of how harsh he is on everyone."

Minerva sighed. "I suppose there is something in me that cannot help but see a little boy who first came here," she started to explain, "with wide, curious eyes and too-shabby clothes, and a hesitance to talk because his accent was rough, factory town rough. A little boy who wanted wanting, and only knew hurt at home. He thought he'd found his place to fit in here, because he was a clever lad. Some called him a protégé. His ambition, more than anything else, was what landed him in Slytherin." She turned her eyes down. "But there were those who only saw him as someone to make sport of, poor little mite. They pushed and pounded him without mercy, nasty names and shoves in the hall, and jumping out from the shadows to knock him about. Our Gryffindors, Miss Granger. I was a young teacher at the time, with little power to do anything but watch. For years it went on, and no one who had the power lifted a finger to stop it. The bullying grew more intense, and the pranks more serious. He started to get in real scrapes, one that nearly killed him. He grew bitter, retaliatory. He learned the hexes, the curses, to pay them back for their attacks on him. The worst elements of Slytherin used all his worst experiences to draw him further into their own sordid circle…and for a while I despaired of what would become of him."

Hermione shivered a little. "He should have…complained to the headmaster or something."

McGonagall tilted her head. "He did. And I'm afraid the headmaster thought it all was rather funny, nothing more than a lark, really. He made it as if the Slytherin boy were merely a snitch, and used it as an inside joke between himself and House Gryffindor. The treatment only got worse from there. They were relentless, torturing and humiliating him before every test, so he could barely concentrate. One such incident led to him lashing out at a friend…a dear friend. Indeed, I believe she was the only friend he truly had. But his words spoken in the heat of passion lost her to him forever." She smiled rather sadly. "You know, he acts like he doesn't care about anyone, but it's all show. You know what he did at fifteen?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, as I'm sure he's informed you, he's none too proficient on piano, although he did take a class or two for extracurricular activities. He always appreciated the classics, you know, and he did something quite silly outside on the lawn…oh, you mustn't ever tell him I told you."

"Of course not," Hermione vowed. "I don't want either of us boiled in a cauldron."

McGonagall smirked. "He played piano out on the lawn, trying to get her to talk to him. Poor dear didn't know what else to do about it, so he just sat out there and played a rather choppy version of Tchaikovsky's _Sleeping Beauty Waltz_."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Professor Snape did that?!"

"Yes, and stayed out there doing it even during a rainstorm. He played his heart out, even when the sheet music got soaked. Then he played from memory."

"He must have…liked the girl very much," she noted.

"Yes," Minerva conceded. "Yes, he did. She used to like him quite a bit, too. Some might call them…childhood sweethearts."

"What happened to her in the end?"

Her teacher was quiet for a long moment. "She married one of his Gryffindor rivals, and later…passed away under a set of complicated circumstances I won't go into now. I will tell you, though, that he has never truly recovered. I know him well enough to know that, and to know that he never truly will."

Hermione's mind rapidly processed the information she had been given. "The headmaster told Harry that his dad was one of Professor Snape's worst rivals in school."

Minerva did not respond, and that only confirmed what Hermione had already suspected.

"Professor, was the girl…was it…?"

"Now, Miss Granger," McGonagall cut her off. "Some things must be revealed with time, but no sooner than necessary. Besides, it is not so much the confused teen that I see in him, beyond all his self-made guises. No, it's the eleven-year-old scrawny little boy I found hiding from bullies in a pantry cupboard one evening, trying to study by wand-light where he wouldn't be disturbed. When he saw me, his eyes looked so very despairing, so very neglected and hurt and lonely. He thought that I would give him away to my Gryffindors."

"So…what happened?"

"Happened? Why, nothing, my dear. It was an empty cupboard, after all." Minerva winked mischievously. "But…he did seem to like the peanut brittle he was handed. I do believe he skipped supper altogether to try and get his studies done. And he looked so very much like a little black kitten curled up in there, I do believe someone patted him on the head."

"Really?" Hermione giggled.

"Yes. He didn't like that very much…might have even hissed as the cupboard was closed again. But I must say there's nothing quite as adorable as an angry kitten."

Hermione found it hard to imagine him as an angry kitten, but trying to do so could not help but be humorous. "So now…has he become a terrifying black cat that hisses a lot?"

"Only terrifying if you let him push his weight around unchecked," McGonagall offered. "But you know, Miss Granger, I don't believe you're the type to let yourself be terrified by anyone. After all, you are a woman of Gryffindor, and we are harder nuts to crack than that. But in order to make that point, I'm afraid you'll have to weather the storm."

Hermione sighed. "You want me to go back and help him, don't you?"

Before McGonagall could respond, a tremendous, ground-shaking BANG resonated from the backstage area. Hearts pounding, teacher and student both went rushing to see what had happened. They ran into Harry and Ron, both staring, mouths agape, towards the jumbo storage closet in the back.

"You guys, what happened?!" Hermione blurted.

"Okay, so the professor was kinda right about Neville's project, I guess…" Ron admitted.

"Where are they, young man?" Minerva demanded.

"Er…once the thing started to fizzle off, Neville told everybody to head for the hills, but Snape….I mean, er… _Professor_ Snape…charged in after him and…well…" Harry pointed towards the closet indicatively.

"Good heavens!" Minerva gasped, and she and Hermione made a beeline for the disaster zone. Once inside, the headmistress promptly lit her wand and beheld both Snape and Neville flat out on the floor, Snape evidently unconscious and Neville just quivering beneath him, partially tangled up in the flowy part of his teacher's cloak.

"Oh…oh…" Neville whimpered. "Is…is he dead? Did…did I kill him?"

"Don't say that!" Hermione blurted, getting down on her knees. " _Professor Snape!_ "

To her relief, she heard Snape stir slightly, and make a low groaning noise.

"Professor Snape, are you okay?"

He twitched a little, and brought his hand to his mouth, which she now saw was rather bloody.

"Loss…sooth…" he slurred.

"What's that, Severus?" Minerva inquired, bending down as well.

"He's lost a tooth," Hermione clarified, dentist's daughter to the end. "Professor, do you know where you are?"

His eyes narrowed. "The ground…?"

"I mean…your wider location."

An eyebrow shot up sarcastically, and he spat, "Snowdonia…nat'nl park… _oww_ …"

"He'll be alright," McGonagall sighed. "He's already back to snarking. Come on, let's get him off Mr. Longbottom…"

With Hermione's help, Minerva managed to pull Snape up on his feet and lug him rather unceremoniously towards the boy's dressing room, where they deposited him on the hideous orange flowered sofa, circa 1973. Snape had always hated the backstage furnishings, donated some years back by Neville's grandmother, but he was too flat-out to properly complain about being reclined there. The room was sort of spinning in circles and there was an eerie ringing sound in his ears.

He felt Hermione touch his forehead and auto-snarled.

"Professor, in addition to losing a tooth, you hit your head and are bleeding… you might have a cracked skull or a concussion or something…"

"Tryin' t'be Frorence Nigt'ngrale?" he spat.

She beamed in triumph. "Better than Marilyn Monroe, yes?"

He rolled his eyes as she tried to pry open his jaw against his will. He struggled, then winced, his eyes a little watery.

"Look, I'm just trying to help, 'kay? Got to stop this bleeding…ohh…Professor, you've lost _two_ teeth. Seriously, you should make a dental visit…another one looks kind of cracked…" She clicked her tongue as she started to fumble with her handbag, which happened to contain a dental emergency kit and copious amounts of gauze. "Alright, open up, and let me get this in here…"

He grumbled inarticulately as she stuffed the substance into the gaping holes in his gums, but dentally trained Hermione seemed to understand. "Yes, I'm well aware of your opinion of me, thank you, sir. Now bite down…that's it. When that bit is used up, I'll have some fresh ones for you. Now let's see to that head…"

"Severus, I'm going to get Madame Pomfrey," McGonagall stated. "She might have to take you down to the infirmary…"

"Wha'? Na…show mus' go'n…" Snape protested.

Just then Neville poked his head around the corner. "Oh…he's…alive…" he exhaled in a decided show of mixed emotions.

Snape's senses snapped into action at the sound of his voice, and he sat up straight. "Longbrottum…yar dead…or else, es'pelled to Siber'ya!"

Neville understandably shrank back a little.

"Mr. Longbottom, what exactly did happen in there?" Minerva demanded, crossing her arms.

"Well…well, I suppose when I was setting up for my demonstration…I guess a put a little bit too much of the blue potion in the yellow potion too soon. So, well…it turned this really cool green color…and then started to sort of fizzle up and overflow…and I figured it was going to blow at any moment, so I yelled for everybody to clear out…"

"But why did you stay?" Hermione inquired.

"I was going to try and stop it…I didn't want to, you know, blow up the school…"

"Touching," Snape growled through the gauze.

"So…so I was in there…trying to do that…and then, well…he came in…and…and blocked me…"

"Blocked you?" Hermione repeated, giving Snape a look, and her teacher seemed decidedly uncomfortable.

"Yeah, he was yelling at me, like he does…and then sort of whacked me in the ear and pushed me behind him and just…waited for it to go off. He just…took it, sort of…"

"Did he now?" Minerva was looking down at Severus with a smile, at which he shuddered.

"Acc'dent," he retorted. "Pure acc'dent…puny brat d'served t'be blasted…"

"So, Neville dear, do you have anything to say to the professor now?" McGonagall queried.

Neville cleared his throat. "Professor Snape, I think you're not quite my boggart anymore…even if you did almost poison my toad that one time, and that was super mean…but yeah, I think now I'm more afraid of rockets and whatnot…and fizzly stuff in general…like I don't think I could ever drink a soda again…"

Just then, Professor Lupin came in the room. "Oh my heavens…Severus, whatever happened?"

"Neville's rocket blew up," Hermione explained hurriedly.

Snape stared at him accusatorily, and spit out the bloody gauze in the bowl provided. "I'd rather be blown to bits…than have you munch me up for lunch break…thank you very much…and what's this nonsense I hear about being this fraidy-cat's damn bloody boggart?!"

"Oh, well…that was just a little…uh…experiment we were doing for the defense against the dark arts class last year," Lupin explained.

"Yeah, he taught us how to get rid of our boggarts by making them look ridiculous," Neville supplied.

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "You… _dare_ …"

"Now, really, Severus, there was no harm done…" Lupin tried to mollify him.

"Yeah, it wasn't anything really bad," Neville insisted. "Just…you in my grandmother's coat…the class really appreciated it, actually…"

Snape very nearly leapt off of Neville's grandmother's sofa in a singular path toward strangulation of his student, but Minerva and Hermione held him down.

"Now Severus, calm down, that's a good laddie," Minerva soothed him. "Erm…have you taken your nerve medication by any chance?"

"Don't…patronize m...mff…"

Hermione stuffed some more gauze in his mouth before he could keep going. "Now if you want it to stop bleeding, you've got to stop talking…bite down, there now…I've got to get the swelling down on your head…" She turned to Neville. "Look, can you go fetch me some ice from Dobby's drink cooler?"

"Okay," he agreed, and left the room with Snape mumbling inarticulately over the boy's utter uselessness and how much of a waste of space he was.

"Well, per your request, it seems I've been selected to rescue poor Professor Trelawney from muggle incarceration?" Lupin surmised.

"Yes, and as fast as you can," Minerva filled in for the gauze-muted Snape. "From what I hear from the outside, 'High on the Hog' is back on stage as a filler to pitch more of their merchandise, and I have a feeling the First Minister and Headmaster are getting restless. So, I'll be off!"

Snape groaned as Lupin departed. In perfect synchronization, Neville returned to cheer him up.

"Got the ice," he announced, klutzily trying to hand the bag to Hermione…and accidentally dumping it all over the prostrate professor who visibly writhed out of freezer-burned reaction.

"Neville!" Hermione shrieked.

"Sorry," he apologized lamely.

"Mr. Longbottom!" Minerva blurted. "I believe the time has come for you to…step outside…for the sake of all our lifespans."

"Okay," he conceded, a bit downcast. "Here's some Gatorade I brought. Thought he might like some."

"Actually could be useful to get him to down these pills," Hermione concurred, digging though her bag and getting out the bottle of precious muggle pharmacy-approved painkillers for dental operations. "Here, professor, spit out the gauze and take a sip of this…it'll help…"

He grunted a protest, still shivering from the ice shavings.

"Now that's no way to talk," she chided the abominable ice man. "Here, just take two of these, and a swig of this, and everything will be fine.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, and instantly regretted it.

"Tastes like bathroom cleaning fluid and five-day-old candied yam leftovers," he spat.

"Yeah, that's why Succotash Sunberry Citrus Surprise is always the flavor everyone leaves at the bottom of the cooler," she confirmed. "It was during Gatorade's experimental phase…"

"How sweet of you all," he snarked.

"The pills will make up for it, promise," she beamed.

"Unscrupulous little drug runner…"

While Minerva headed out to try and make some sense of the backstage pandemonium, Hermione remained quietly sitting on the arm of the sofa next to him as the muggle pain medication finally started to kick in and he became a bit more tranquil. He blinked drowsily, half letting himself drift off as she held the ice to his forehead.

She swallowed. "I…"

He opened his eyes groggily, as if daring her to go on.

"I…I'm so glad you're alright. When you were lying there at first, I thought…"

He gave her a disoriented look and gestured to his ear. "Ringing…can't hear …stupid girl…"

She inhaled, and blurted more loudly, "I'm just glad you're not dead, you ungrateful vampire!"

Fortunately, he seemed not to have heard that either, and looking frustrated, grabbed her arm and pulled her down closer to his ear.

She hesitated for a moment, and then said softly, "I'm glad you're alright, that's all."

He snorted. "Liar…"

"I am not!" she shot back, then calmed herself down a little and continued, "I…I was worried…worried over you. I didn't really think I would be necessarily, but I was because…because for crying out loud, you're our least favorite teacher, and you're the one we have to survive every morning, and warn all the new students about, and make a bloody big deal about it…and…and I don't want you being hurt, that's all."

Snape looked prepped to retort snarkily, but Hermione cut him off before he could.

"You know, you're not all wrong about us, I'll admit it. Neville is clumsy and oftentimes afraid of his own shadow. Harry sometimes goes about with a giant golden chip on his shoulder. Ron is…well, we all know about Ron. And perhaps I do get a bit…carried away with myself at times."

Snape raised both eyebrows now.

"But see, that's not the point! We're all worth more than our worst faults! Maybe we should just be focused on trying to teach each other how to do better, instead of bashing each other over the head with everything we get wrong. Because no one is free of faults, professor… _no one_. Maybe we all could afford to learn something from each other, and think about each other's feelings, and…y'know, help each other get through things instead of being in quasi-conflict all the time?"

Snape stared at her intently, markedly bemused by her bluntness. "You…really should have done your little pep talk to the braindead minions, Granger," he exhaled. "Now leave me alone…tired…"

"Sleep well," she sighed, as he drifted off into pain-numbed naptime.


	6. Chapter 6: The Panera Problem

Chapter 6: The Panera Problem

When Snape woke up from his comatose state, he heard the sound of humming through the static buzzing still in his head. Whoever was doing it managed to automatically jostle his memories back to his own school days, as the tune was one very familiar to him….

"W'as dat?" he slurred through the gauze still in his mouth.

"Oh, umm…it's…'Sleeping Beauty Waltz', sir," Hermione told him. "I used to, ummm…take ballet lessons and it always stuck with me." She handed him a bowl to spit out the bloody gauze.

"So…" he droned, touching the empty teeth spots with his tongue, "your true talent lies dormant, unseen by the masses of us mere mortals, unless you deign to don a tutu and prance about on stage like a windup doll?"

She shook her head despairingly. "You don't appreciate the arts very much, do you?"

He squinted. "Young lady, simply because my taste does not merge with little girl's ballet and talentless shows, it has no bearing on my knowledge of and appreciation for higher things."

"Like what?" she challenged daringly.

"I don't see how it's any of your business." He scowled and turned away from her.

She swallowed, deciding upon another method. "I…noticed your phone plays 'O Fortuna'. Are you…do you like opera?"

He grumbled inarticulately without answering.

"I like it," she stated softly. "I always have. Back home, other kids used to make fun of me because of it. I used to collect all the records and my dad would take me to concerts. There was nothing quite like it."

"There's always something like everything," he muttered. "The world is altogether repetitious."

"But not like the first time you hear an opera," she retorted. "No, it's like everything you've been feeling inside standing up and singing, of reminding you just how deep things go, the joys and the tragedies and the in-between emotions that bring them together. It's like…a mirror held up to your soul, you know? And there's nothing like that, no, nothing."

Snape stared at her dully. "Haven't heard an opera in years…not…properly." His eyes drifted down. "Machine broke."

"Machine?" Hermione repeated.

"Record player, silly girl," he huffed.

"Oh…umm…you have records of…opera music?"

He squinted. "Didn't I just say that?"

"Which composers? Puccini? Rossini?"

"All of them."

Her eyes widened. "All?"

"All worth mentioning, at least," he sighed.

"Oh." Hermione fiddled with her hands in her lap quietly. "Might you…I mean, if I found us a player…"

"Us?" he ground out tartly.

"Yes, us," she affirmed. "If I found a player, I'd be most appreciative if you might…allow me to listen to some of them. It's been so long since I've heard proper opera like that."

He gave her an odd look, as if trying to think up some bitter retort. But then he merely grumbled under his breath. "We'll see," was all he managed. And that was that.

Just then, McGonnagall came in the room. "The sad fact is we're running short on acts. I've pretty much nudged everyone out there we've got, except for Hagrid, who we're saving for the grand finale. So many people either couldn't make it or simply haven't arrived, there are huge gaps in the schedule."

Hermione sighed. "Hang on, I'll be on stage in a minute and try to come up with something."

Snape blinked. "You're going out there?"

"As you said, it is what I signed up for."

He blinked again. "Looking like _that_?"

"Now let's not start that again, shall we?" she huffed, starting to put on a Power Ranger jacket.

Snape bit his lip, in an almost slightly guilty way. Perhaps it had to do with the pain-killers, but Snape found that her attentions had not been entirely unwelcome, if somewhat perplexing. He wasn't used to people taking care of him when he was hurt, and looking down at him, eyes dripping with concern. He thought it should probably have annoyed him altogether, but the idea that she'd stayed there with him while he slept and kept holding the ice on his head, and brushed away the trickle of blood oozing from the gauze in his mouth made him feel strangely…better, after all.

And she honestly hadn't seemed to find his condition a cause for undue amusement, or even some cosmic justice paid back by the universe to everyone's unanimously least favorite teacher and a thoroughly miserable man. She just seemed to want to make him feel better, in spite of himself. And now she was stoically preparing to make a laughing stock of herself, tromping out on stage, painted every color of the rainbow…

"Minerva," he growled, just in time to stay the execution. "She...she can't go out like that. She's a bloody mess, head to foot…it'd disgrace the whole school, alright?"

McGonagall rested a hand on her hip. "And your solution, potions master?"

"What you think, I dress in drag for a hobby?" He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who should have some type of suitable attire about from distant days of yore, what?"

"Not so very distant, young man," she cracked back at him.

"Within living memory?!"

"Alright, fine," Minerva huffed. "I might have something suitable in my chambers. Come along, Miss Granger."

"But…who's going to run things if we're both gone?" Hermione queried.

"The Production Manager," shot back his managerial self, struggling to sit up. "Who d'ya think, smarty-britches?"

Hermione looked at Professor McGonnagall in panic. "No! He can't! He's taken medication! If he gets up now, he'll fall flat on his…"

"Miss Granger…" The headmistress eyed her sternly, and pulled her out of the room before Snape could revoke their journey into the closets of yesteryear. "Remember, young lady, with this amicable potions master, you have to take what you can get," she stated through clenched teeth.

"You mean…translate it as an apology?"

"Take it or leave it, my dear."

When they were quite gone, Snape forced himself to his feet, wobbly and a bit disoriented, but as determined as a marine on a beachfront. When he staggered backstage in sight of the crew, they automatically jumped to attention, looking slightly horrified.

"Thought you'd get rid of me that easily, my devoted student body?" he growled, walking not so sure-footedly towards Harry, Ron, and Neville, who seemed to be at something of a loss as to how to proceed.

"We…uh…didn't know you'd be coming back…so soon…" Harry managed.

"I've had a miraculous recovery, no thanks to the current assembly," he grunted. "You," he spat at Harry. "Figure out the lighting and lights set-up. And you…" He turned to Ron, then death-glared Neville, and finally fixed his eyes on the Weasley boy again. "Keep your Armageddon-inaugurating confederate away from me. Contrary to common belief, I actually want to survive this semester. Is that clear?"

"Wait, you're asking _Ron_ to save you from Neville?" Harry blurted, unintelligently.

"My options are fairly scarce, aren't they, wonder boy?" Snape tossed Ron his medical packet. "He'll also have to be on hand with supplies in case of further oral hemorrhaging."

Ron groaned. "Wish Hermione were here!"

"Then maybe you should have thought twice before plastering your little girlfriend with five coats of magically charged linoleum paint!" he snapped. "Now, if any of you have any care whatsoever for the future of this establishment, we will have to abide by…a truce."

"Truce…?" Ron mouthed.

"Decidedly temporary. Just long enough to mutually survive as…a _team_ …" he said, with notable pain. "Once the final curtain closes, it's back to our healthy sense of mutual distain."

Just then, Snape's phone started to ring. He groaned and stalked off towards the bomb-damaged broom closet.

"Lupin…" he ground out.

"Oh, good, you're up and about again…"

"So glad that my health is uppermost on your mind, as it always has been," he sneered. "Now: what in blazes is keeping you?"

"So, Trelawney was understandably upset by her arrest and incarceration," Lupin explained, "and I decided we should have a little heart to heart…"

"What the…where are you?" Snape demanded.

"At Panera Bread."

"Panera Bread?!"

Harry and Ron both groaned, realizing that Snape's no-go zone had been treaded upon. For years now, after an accidental visit to the migrated American chain, he had become something of an outspoken crusader against the ancient evils of Panera Bread…mainly having to do with what he considered to be a softie, hoity-toity atmosphere and exorbitantly priced menu.

"Lupin, I'm ashamed…even the likes of you should have more pride than to support that snooty little foreign import health farm, catering to a bunch of posh muggle trophy wives after their yoga classes and daddy's little princesses creating fashion design apps on their iphones!"

"Umm…Severus, have you even been in here recently?" Lupin checked. "I think you might be stereotyping just a tad…"

"Why the hell would I have been in there? The last time my blood ran cold reading the prices and I nearly vomited at the smell of rich muggle cologne and gluten free avocado spread sandwiches!"

"Oh…Professor Trelawney ordered one of those," he confirmed. "They have pretty good cheese Danishes, too…"

Snape groaned. "Listen, werewolf, my patience is wearing thin. You can both hemorrhage your money over there if you want, but do so on your own time! Now get her down here and at the piano!"

"Well…that's why I'm calling. We ran into a little…unexpected company."

"This is not the time for slobbery reunions, you dolt!"

"It's not…quite that type of thing," Lupin explained lowly. "So, you see, there is this group table to our right, and the party in question are all dressed in black, and they ordered everything on the Spookilicious Halloween menu board, including the devil's delight mousse cheesecake and pumpkin spice lattes."

"Probably just some crazy Goth delinquents from Aberdeen U," Snape surmised.

"The party includes a woman with dark frizzy hair, heavy eyeshadow, and a rather disconcerting laugh…"

"Wait, what?"

"There's also a rather dimwitted chap who randomly starts clapping out of nowhere…"

"Hold the phone…"

"And a decidedly shadowy figure in a hooded cloak."

Snape swallowed. "Lupin…get yourself and Trelawney out of there this instant."

"Well, Trelawney is currently in the ladies' room."

"Well, get her the hell out of the ladies' room! Don't you realize…"

"Oh, Severus, got to go, battery dying…call you back…"

" _Lupin!_ "

"Thanks for the concern, though…really rather a shock coming from you."

"Please don't take it to heart."

"Surely, old rival Cheers."

Then the phone died.

"Severus," came a sage voice from behind Snape. He whirled around to find Professor Dumbledore standing there. "Why has the show come to this untimely standstill?"

"Headmaster, we have something of a potential emergency on our hands," Snape stated. "Lupin and Trelawney are out at Panera Bread, and…"

"Oh, Severus, not the PB thing again," Dumbledore sighed. "You know, you really need to be broken of this phobia, and I know just how to do it. We'll go out for pumpkin spice lattes some time, my treat."

"Headmaster," Snape ground out. "The Dark Lord and his minions may well be sipping on your precious lattes as we speak!"

"Hmm…you know, Tom always used to have a thing for gourmet coffee houses…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Is that all you have to say?! I mean, he is bent on world domination here!"

"You're…thinking too far ahead," the headmaster decided. "We have more immediate concerns…"

"Such as?!"

"Such as…the guinea pig act went over like a lead balloon," Albus stated glumly. "The Minister of Magic was none too impressed by the bench dancers, either."

"Well isn't that a shame," Snape remarked sarcastically. "You do realize I nearly got my head blown off back here, do you not?!"

"Yes, which was really a disappointment when Minerva filled me in," he sighed. "I was actually expecting something more spectacular, like a fireworks display or something…"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"You just need to spice things up a tad if there's any hope at all of squeezing blood out of stone with these Ministry people, otherwise…we may be wearing monogrammed aprons by the end of the term."

"Working in the Dark Lord's personal Panera Bread no doubt, if you don't do something about it!"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'll…send someone out to survey the setup. Er…Dobby, would you follow me, please? That's a good little fellow…"

The potions master groaned in melodramatic despair as the headmaster and the house elf departed the back stage area. Now the future was in his hands alone.

"Weasley," Snape snapped, tossing him the cell phone. "Ring up your mother. Tell her to prepare to lead a singalong."

"W-w-what?!" Ron stammered. "But…she's not really the type…"

"And you think I am?"

"Can't we just do it instead?" Harry inquired. "We had the crowd wild out there with 'High on the Hog…"

"Yes, most likely wild to remove your tormenting presence from the stage. I dare not have a repeat of the performance."

"Oh, I have an idea!" declared Neville.

All three of them dead-eyed him.

"I could…umm…sing the theme from 'Bananas in Pajamas'…"

All three of them looked slightly sick.

"It's actually really catchy for audience participation," Neville insisted, and then started to sing under his breath in a wobbly way to demonstrate, "Bananas…in pajamas…are coming down the stairs…Ban…mff…"

Snape had promptly clamped his hand over Neville's mouth and spat, "Do not DARE get that nasty bit of work stuck in my head! It's as contagious as the Black Plague!"

"He's…actually got a point," Ron had to admit.

"Don't agree with me! It instantly lessens the veracity of my claim!"

"I only meant that…"

"Forget this tosh!" he blurted. "I'm going out there. Bring them some classical education."

"What…do you mean?" Harry queried, a bit suspiciously.

Snape squinted. "You just get the bloody lighting working. Then watch and learn."

With that, he straightened his collar, inhaled, and headed resolutely out towards the stage…


	7. Chapter 7: Thanks for the Memories

Chapter 7: Thanks for the Memories

Professor Snape, while he suffered from supreme phone duh, suffered from even worse stage fright. Even Harry, Ron, and Neville felt sort of sorry for him as he gimped on-stage, still dumbed up on pain meds, with a hand clasped to his injured mouth. The three of them were starting to lay interior bets on whether he would make it back alive, and whether, perhaps, they should have given him a tad more encouragement before his final saunter on the field…he also looked like he was getting vertigo from the rather obtrusive blue strobe light the team had flicked on for him.

"Do we have a coffin to bring him back with?" Ron inquired, flatly.

"I dunno, maybe he's got a plan of some kind," Harry offered. "He's kind of sneaky."

"And scary," Neville added. "He he said was gonna poison my toad…"

"Yeah, we heard Neville," Harry exhaled.

"For like, the ga-zillionth time!" Ron responded.

"Yeah, he's done worse…"

"Yeah, like banging our heads together in class…"

"And letting Draco blast me during dueling…"

"And making us clean out, like, a hundred thousand test tubes…"

"Eh…more like a hundred, Ron…"

"Whatevs!"

"Shh, you guys!" Neville hushed them. "He's saying something!"

"Actually…sounds like he's reciting something…"

"Yeah, from memory…"

They listened in as Snape commenced to unleash a long-winded monologue in an impressively silky and subversively passionate tone:

"Now is the winter of our discontent  
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;  
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house  
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.  
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;  
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;  
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,  
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.  
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;  
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds  
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,  
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber  
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute…."

"What's his problem now?" Ron queried, scratching his chin.

"I think that's, like, old stuff," Harry surmised intelligently.

"Yeah, definitely old stuff," Ron agreed.

"Sounds like the Romeo and Juliet guy," Neville noted. "My grandmother made me watch an Italian movie version of that…"

"Ugh, gross, Nev," Ron groaned.

"But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,  
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;  
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty  
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;  
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,  
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,  
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time  
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,  
And that so lamely and unfashionable  
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;  
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,  
Have no delight to pass away the time,  
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun  
And descant on mine own deformity…"

"Is he talking about his nose?" Ron mused.

"Sounds like he hates dogs or something," Harry offered.

"Well, there was that incident with Fluffy…"

"Well, he did say 'lame'; that's a cue…"

"He said spy! He finally said it! We knew it! Woo-hoo!"

"Shh…he's still going…"

"And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,  
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,  
I am determined to prove a villain  
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.  
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,  
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,  
To set my brother Clarence and the king  
In deadly hate the one against the other:  
And if King Edward be as true and just  
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,  
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,  
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'  
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.  
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here  
Clarence comes..."

"Does…he need a hug?" Neville inquired.

"Nah, more like a shrink," Ron snorted.

"Actually…he's not half bad at this…" Harry remarked, shocking himself, and earning some admonishing glances from his compadres. "I mean…maybe he just missed his calling, something to pour all his depressedness into. He seems like a born drama queen…"

Snape was, meanwhile, running out of steam and getting virtually blinded by the blue strobe light, and decided it best to quit while he was ahead and retreat into the darkness from whence he had come. Thus, after blinking a few times, he intoned into the squeaking mic: "We will now observe…a half hour of silence for…the dead, the dying, and those who may yet die…in our lifetimes…"

Just as he was about to abandon ship and escape the possible tomato pounding, he turned to the right and nearly bumped into a sight for sore eyes. It was Miss Granger…or was it? He wasn't sure. She looked altogether transformed in a shimmering blue dress, high heels, her hair elegantly turned up, and her face complete with make-up, lipstick, and eye-shadow.

He blinked to make sure he was seeing straight, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Yes, it was definitely her, with that pert little nose and persnickety sparkle in her eyes, realizing that he was indeed silently eating his words. Of course, he'd never actually admit to that, but…

"Professor Snape," she hissed at him under her breath, and then shoved what appeared to be sheet music at him. Harry and Ron were promptly pulling out the piano and rolling it on stage.

"What…?"

"Just…do what you do!"

"What the…what are you…?"

But Hermione had already whipped around, and smiling brightly at the audience announced, "Time for some music! Our first number will be 'Memory', from the musical 'Cats…'"

Snape suddenly started to recognize the method to her madness and didn't like it one bit. But she was fast waving him towards the piano, and he was angrily mouthing his inability, in vain. He was just going to have to fake it as best he could based on school year memories, or else destroy anything he had managed to salvage via his Shakespearian recitation.

He sat stiffly at the piano, flexed his fingers for a moment, and struggled to remember the beginning cords and notes and configures as Hermione began to sing:

Memory  
All alone in the moonlight  
I can smile at the old days  
I was beautiful then  
I remember  
The time I knew what happiness was  
Let the memory live again

Daylight  
I must wait for the sunrise  
I must think of a new life  
And I mustn't give in  
When the dawn comes  
Tonight will be a memory too  
And a new day will begin

Touch me  
It's so easy to leave me  
All alone with my memory  
Of my days in the sun  
If you touch me  
You'll understand what happiness is  
Look a new day has begun

Snape didn't know why…perhaps it was the chaos, the nerves, the pain in his mouth starting to prickle again…but he felt an annoying lump forming in his throat. For the girl could sing. Yes, she sang far better than he ever would have expected. And he imagined that it covered even his fumbling playing, although somehow his hands seemed to find their way far better than he ever imagined they would. It was almost as if, for so many passing minutes, he had been returned to a former state, an early self before losing himself or locking himself up in a self-made cage. And he found he could play after all. And found himself hating himself for some small ounce of enjoyment in it, some small pride that his student had let some secret talent shine.

What was he doing? Stupid, stupid…control your emotions! Don't feel, don't feel anything…This was so unbecoming of him…

But he was glad he felt it, even momentarily. And he could not suppress that moment of gladness, even though he knew it was doomed to fade and disappear soon enough. Such feelings always did for him, either through others or his own mechanisms...

And then the crowd erupted in a standing ovation, shaking the professor out of his ponderings. After a few moments of this, Harry and Ron started to yank close the giant curtain…only to have the yank be so sudden that it caused the decrepit entity to tear, and Snape to mutter a few less than complimentary remarks under his breath.

For lack of a saving curtain, Hermione kept taking her bows to the jubilant crowd demanding an encore. But the tech team was busy working on a way to save them…by short circuiting the lights. With that, the entire stage electrical system died out altogether, and Snape and Hermione made their getaway backstage to the confused murmuring of the throng.

"What…did you do to her?" Snape asked McGonagall point-blank upon reaching back-stage safety.

"Severus, that's exceedingly rude."

"I know," he admitted. "I _am_ rude…which does nothing to answer my very reasonable inquiry. The little Granger moppet looks like an alternate creature."

"I simply realized my gown from my first wizarding ball would probably fit her to a tee, and…I added a few extra magical touches…"

"Must have been some heavy magic."

Minerva sighed. "Merely basic feminine necessities…that's all."

"You actually managed to straighten her hair for her too?"

Her eyes sparkled. "I did know how to doll myself up in my day, you know. If I do say so myself, I might even have been called a dish, and got some looks akin to the ones the boys have plastered on their faces now."

Snape rolled his eyes, noticing Harry and Ron had been rendered googly-eyed and gob-smacked to see Hermione's latest metamorphosis. "Look what you've done," he exhaled. "Their sheer uselessness has actually been exacerbated, thanks to your ministrations."

"Boys will be boys," she reminded him gently. "and you were a boy once too, remember?"

He said nothing, but his usually dead-pale face took on a momentarily pink tint. Of course he knew she was speaking of his own first ball experience as a student, when he had watched in a corner, obviously love-sick, as a beautiful red-headed girl and a smirking bespeckled boy danced almost every dance together.

Minerva, realizing the memories she'd just kicked up, smiled at him almost apologetically, and remarked softly, "You know something, laddie?" Even that that…other one was in my house, I was rooting you most of the time, in spite of myself."

He shocked look crossed his face. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Because you were my little black kitten in the cupboard that hissed a lot."

He exhaled. "That you fed peanut brittle and kept hidden from the charm of your voracious lions?"

"Well, yes, that…and because I happen to be a romantic at heart. And you…more than the other one…you had the heart for it, too."

He snorted dismissively. "Could sum this up as pity, couldn't you, hmm?"

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "But you learned to take care of yourself quite effectively, didn't you?"

"Didn't I?" he repeated, slightly bitterly, and they both knew what he meant. The path he had taken in the past would forever be a stain on his present and blot on his future. And the headmistress just wished there could have some way she could have reached the boy back then, to have stopped him from taking the route that had cost so must pain. But it was too late now.

"Well, at least you have some experience to teach these other boys how to take care of themselves too…surviving you is training enough for them."

"You haven't done so bad either, having mercilessly assaulted them with a hormonal surge," he noted blandly, seeing that Harry and Ron still looked quite red in the face as they struggled to string coherent sentences together in front of Hermione, who was fast losing patience and demanding what their problem was.

"Hmm…I was thinking…perhaps it's time to run a little program on the facts of life in this campus," Minerva suggested.

"Good God, no," he spat. "It's like giving the miscreants manuals for explosives."

"Not if it's done in a proper fashion," she sighed. "And for that…I can't help but think you'd be a good pick to teach it."

"Me?!" he blurted. "Have you lost your wits, madam?"

"You'd make it seem so much like dissection frogs, they probably wouldn't want to go full throttle with it for the next millennia."

Just then, Snape's phone started singing. Once again, he shuffled off to the corner, and intoned "You rang?"

"Severus," came a whispery voice on the other end. "Thank heavens you've answered."

"What's happening, headmaster?" he inquired. "Heard aught from Lupin and Trelawney?"

"Well…yes and no…given that they're currently gagged in Panera Bread. It turns out…yes, it's Tom alright. You how he…does these things…tries to take over local establishments and food chains and high schools and the like…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "And where are you?"

"I was dressed like a mulberry bush outside the window to spy, then Dobby had to go to the bathroom, so we clambered in the window, and are now staked out by the automatic paper towel dispensers."

"I…assume you have something to tell me that may secure our futures in this darkest of hours?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Severus…you've been a good spy. It's good to have a good spy on hand in hour of need to confide in…"

"Yes, headmaster," he agreed gravely. "Tell me what needs to be told."

"Alright," Dumbledore exhaled. "I…have a Rainbow Singles dating app on my iphone."  
Severus blinked. "Wait… _that_ was what needed to be told?"

"Well, yes. Isn't it something of a plot-twist?"

"Not since the time we figured it out at the staff movie night that you had a crush on Doctor Who!"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Obviously. You turned slightly magenta every time he came on screen."

"Well…the popcorn maker was heating up the room too…"

"And then there was the rainbow themed birthday party you threw for Mrs. Norris, when you baked a hundred multi-colored kitty cupcakes."

"With rainbow sprinkles and an aside of rainbow sorbet," he added. "But…I digress…"

"Yes, you do," he huffed. "How does this relate to the current crisis?"

"All I'm asking is that if something happens to me, you make use of all the llama points I'm collected playing dating game quizzes on my app."

"What…what the hell?" Snape sputtered. "I'm not rainbow!"

"No, you're as straight as a storm cloud on a sunny day," Albus noted dismally. "But you can still make use of those llama points."

"How so?" he queried. "Are you planning on having me match-make you with the dark lord on a blind date to alter his trend of consciousness?"

"No, I think he has a thing for the cra-cra eye-shadow lady," Albus decided. "He even purchased her pumpkin spice latte for her. Besides, I really don't think he…turns me on, you know?"

"So…what's your plan?"

"My plan is for you to turn in my points to enter the biggest raffle in the season for the much sought after rainbow unicorn moon bounce. And have it inscribed in my loving my memory. The students would love it."

"But I don't love them," Snape ground out.

"Oh, come on, I think they're starting to grow on you."

"Like barnacles…"

Just then a ferocious growling noise was heard on Albus' side of the phone.

"Oh, dear…" the headmaster remarked.

"What now?"

"I better…go now…"

"Wait, in case something happens to you…do you have a means of leaving some proof behind regarding my allegiance?" Snape queried. "I mean, if everyone on the planet except you misconstrued which payroll I am genuinely on…and you were spirited away from said planet…things could get a bit sketchy for me…"

"Oh, if worse comes to worse, just show them your memories in your tears or something suitably dramatic…"

"What?!"

"You'd be perfect for it; you're kind of a drama queen at heart…"

"I'm not a queen _anything_! I've always had a thing for females! ALWAYS!"

"It's just a phrase…calm down…"

"Look, can't you just leave this information on a recording device in a locked safe or something to be delivered to the ministry in case of…?"

"Severus, you're so straight-shooting it's painful," Albus decided. "This is Hogwarts; we thrive on the mysterious, the unusual, the colorful, the…"

"Stupid?"

"There, there," the elder wizard calmed him. "Remember, when you're freezing, all you have to do is turn on the thermostat…or watch Dr. Who…gorgeous hulk…"

"What?!"

"It's a wise saying! Toodles!"


End file.
